


In The Sobering Light Of Morning

by kcstories



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, HP: EWE, M/M, Prompt Fic, flangst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-09
Updated: 2008-12-09
Packaged: 2018-07-29 14:02:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7687396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kcstories/pseuds/kcstories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The morning after the night before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In The Sobering Light Of Morning

**Author's Note:**

> **Pairing:** Harry/Draco  
>  **Prompt:** Nutcracker.  
>  **Disclaimer:** The Potterverse is JKR's, not mine.

Harry wakes up naked in an unfamiliar bed in a strange room that’s entirely too bright for his tired, itchy eyes.  
  
Somewhere in a nearby distance, or possibly within the confines of his own head, he believes he can hear a band of boisterous goblins drumming loudly, merrily and with the kind of enthusiasm that will keep them going for hours.  
  
_Oh, bugger._ Where the hell did he end up and just how much did he have to drink last night?

Someone beside him coughs.  
  
Harry’s heart leaps up into his throat, and he suppresses the urge to yelp.  
  
At least this answers his next question, then. Wherever he is, he’s not alone, and obviously, a bit more than merely drinking went on last night. He takes a deep, bracing breath before carefully glancing to his left.  
  
Without his glasses, Harry can’t see very well, and the relentless throbbing in his head hardly helps his vision, but still, there is no mistaking those pale, sharp features.  
  
Draco Malfoy is lying next to him, propped up on one elbow, and smirking. “Might I interest you in a Hangover Potion, Potter?”  
  
Harry swallows hard. Malfoy doesn’t seem embarrassed in the slightest. He probably does this sort of thing all the time.  
  
“Er, did we…?” Harry asks awkwardly.  
  
The answer to that is apparent enough, but still, he feels he ought to get it confirmed. He can’t remember a thing about last night, and he can’t decide whether he should be relieved, angry or quite worried about that. Perhaps, he decides, he’ll settle for a bit of all three.  
  
“Indeed, we did,” Malfoy replies dryly, and hands Harry a small vial. “Here, your potion. Sorry to say, it tastes quite foul, so you’d best drink it quickly, in one swift gulp.”  
  
Harry accepts it with a trembling hand, and mumbles his thanks. He downs the potion as quickly as he can and tries not to flinch. _God,_ ‘foul’ must be the understatement of the decade.  
  
Malfoy, meanwhile, is still watching him intently.

A thick silence falls over the room. Harry hasn’t a clue what to say, and he supposes Malfoy is equally lost for words. Either that, or he’s merely waiting for the right opportunity to strike.  
  
Well, Harry isn't about to present that to him. His present predicament is embarrassing enough as it is, without adding sarcasm and mockery to the mix.  
  
Finally, Malfoy does speak. “Right. I suppose I’d best get dressed. I’ll use the bathroom down the hall. You can shower in the en-suite if you’d like?”  
  
“Oh,” Harry mumbles. “Okay.”  
  
He forces himself not to sneak a peek when Malfoy, who can’t even be bothered to cover himself up, leaves the room, and he’s more than a little relieved to note the potion is kicking in.  
  
Then again, the memories are flooding back, too; slowly and vaguely, but from what he can already remember, last night seems to have been quite… pleasant.  
  
Harry shakes his head. No, he really mustn’t go there. Such musings cannot possibly lead to anything good. He saw how Malfoy acted just now, non-committal and completely unfazed. Last night clearly meant nothing to him. He probably invites strangers, or as in this case, old school acquaintances, into his bed all the time.  
  
Unlike Harry…  
  
Harry hadn’t been intimate with anyone in well over a year, and ironically enough, the last time was also the result of a drunken encounter.  
  
The man was tall and blond; a Muggle who liked him for who he was, not a fellow wizard who was keen to sleep with a war hero, or a former childhood rival who had an old score to settle.  
  
Harry sighs deeply. All this would be so much easier, too, if he didn’t actually fancy the git…  
  
Even back in school, Harry used to feel drawn to Malfoy. The two of them never became friends after the war, never mind anything more, but they were mostly civil to one another once they were back at Hogwarts, and Harry often wished that…  
  
_No. Enough!_  
  
He swiftly gets out of bed and makes his way to the shower. He feels slightly ill, and he’s quite certain his waning hangover has nothing at all to do with it.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
In the shower, with warm water cascading down his back as he wipes some shampoo out of his itchy eyes, Harry starts to recall last night’s events more vividly.  
  
He was sitting around at home, feeling bored and somewhat sorry for himself, and he was vastly dreading Christmas lunch at the Burrow, with all those happy young couples and their overexcited children.  
  
There was nothing on the telly apart from cliché-ridden romantic comedies that only made him feel worse, so in the end, he decided to go out to visit a local Muggle pub. The plan was to get positively plastered and if he was lucky, maybe meet someone to help alleviate his loneliness, too.  
  
Meet someone, he did.  
  
Harry had only just stepped through the door of the seedy establishment—it was called ‘The Raging Bull’, if he remembers correctly—when he spotted a familiar face at the bar.  
  
_Draco Malfoy._  
  
Sneering at the irony—him of all people, here of all places—Harry went over and offered to buy him a drink.  
  
Predictably, Malfoy’s reaction was to refuse, loudly and rudely.  
  
In an instant, Harry’s mood switched from maudlin to furious. He just couldn’t stop himself. There he was, lonely, miserable and looking for some pleasant distraction, but instead, fate had decided to kick him in the guts once again by placing Draco Malfoy on his path; Draco Malfoy, whom he hadn’t seen in three years and who was clearly still the same arrogant prat from back in their school days, albeit somewhat older and unsettlingly attractive; _damn it._  
  
Accusations and insults flew back and forth, until…  
  
“Perhaps we should continue this outside, Potter, before the landlord kicks us off the premises.”  
  
So they did, and in some dark, deserted alley behind a dodgy pub, an exasperated Harry Potter slammed Draco Malfoy against the wall and kissed him for all he was worth.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
With feet like lead, Harry shuffles into the kitchen.  
  
Malfoy is sitting at the table, taking delicate sips from a large green mug. He looks up, his expression neutral.  
  
“Um, hello,” Harry says, unsure how to act. Ever since he remembered what happened, he’s been feeling even more awkward.  
  
“Help yourself,” Malfoy says, gesturing towards the coffee pot. His tone betrays nothing of what he might be thinking, either. “There’s milk in the fridge, if you want some.”  
  
Harry takes the chair across from him. He would do better to go home; he’s fully aware of that. His heart is about to get broken. Staying will only lumber him with false hope, thus prolong the agony.  
  
Nonetheless, he can’t bring himself to walk away. It’s almost as though some invisible force is keeping him here. He hopes it isn’t optimism; that never worked terribly well for him in the past.  
  
Then again, what does he have to lose? If he leaves now, he’ll never see Malfoy again, and he’ll probably spend the next few weeks, months, however long it may take, lamenting over what might have been.  
  
On the other hand, if he does say something, then perhaps…  
  
Harry takes a deep breath. Again, he reminds himself he has nothing to lose, so he might as well be brave. Besides, he’s a Gryffindor. Or he used to be, ages ago. Harry clears his throat.  
  
“I’m not sorry,” he states firmly, pouring himself a cup of coffee. His hand is steadier than he expected.  
  
Malfoy blinks. “Pardon?”  
  
“About last night.” Harry’s tone remains even.  
  
“You’re not sorry about last night,” Malfoy says slowly.  
  
“No. I’m not.”  
  
“All right, then.”  
  
Harry frowns. This is hardly the reaction he was anticipating. Fixing Malfoy with the most confrontational gaze he can manage, he asks, “Are you sorry?”  
  
Malfoy takes a deep breath, and then shakes his head. “No, not as such, though I do regret…”  
  
Harry swallows hard. “Yes? What?”  
  
“The sheer…. impulsiveness of it all, shall we say?” Malfoy replies, smiling slightly.  
  
Harry lets out a long breath. “Yeah. We went about it all wrong, didn’t we?” he says.  
  
“I wouldn’t go that far.” Malfoy chuckles. “I think, considering the state we were in, we managed rather well.”  
  
Realising his double entendre, Harry sheepishly hides his face in his hands. He’s not actually blushing, is he? _Oh, God._  
  
Feeling quite foolish, he peeks through his fingers to find Malfoy grinning at him. There are no signs of mockery in the man’s expression, only of fond amusement.  
  
Harry puts his hands down and awkwardly folds them in front of him.  
  
“Look,” Malfoy says, and clears his throat. “How about we try again, but this time…”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“We try to stick to the correct order of how these things are generally done.”  
  
Harry frowns. “How do you mean?”  
  
Malfoy smiles. “To begin with, I could ask you out on a date.”  
  
“A date?”  
  
Malfoy nods. “It so happens that I’ve managed to acquire two tickets for tonight’s performance of ‘The Nutcracker’.”  
  
“Nutcra-“ Harry is nothing short of gobsmacked. “But that’s a Muggle ballet, isn’t it?”  
  
“Oh, well done, Potter! “ Malfoy smirks. “Yes, it is. My administrative assistant, who is a Muggleborn— do try not to die from shock, won’t you? – had booked two seats, but sadly found herself unable to go; some family emergency abroad. So she gave me her tickets instead. She thought it was something I might enjoy.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“So, would you care to accompany me? We could have dinner first, too. French, perhaps?”  
  
Harry blinks. “Um, I’ve never been to the ballet before, but…”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
Harry smiles. “Sure, why not? And I agree. We should, er… try to… date… um, properly. I don’t…” He hesitates.  
  
“Go on,” Malfoy says, and takes another sip from his coffee.  
  
“I don’t normally do this sort of thing,” Harry says softly. “One-night-stands, I mean.”  
  
“Good. Me neither,” Malfoy replies, sounding completely sincere.  
  
Harry smiles, relieved to have been proven wrong.  
  
“Just one thing, though,” Malfoy adds, smirking again.  
  
“What?” Harry asks.  
  
“Do try not to look like a scarecrow tonight, won’t you?”  
  
Harry shakes his head. At any other time, he might have been a bit offended, and definitely annoyed. Now, all he can do is grin. “I’ll see what I can do, Draco.”

 

 


End file.
